Sam and Warren | Peacock
Jan. 10th, 2024 10:58 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsWarren makes a second impression on Sam. It is marginally better than the first impression.
Set a few hours before THIS.
The mansion was too dirty and demolished for Warren to enjoy his usual naos, and he honestly didn't want to be at his penthouse or work so that only left the XFI offices to skulk around in.
Although he'd been back for a while, Warren was still fairly hands-off. Letting Q feel like a big boy was Warren's Good Deed of the year and he saw no reason to change that.
That being said, adminstratively there was a lot to do. With Alex's departure finances had to be sorted, and Warren figured this was a good time to look at safe houses. He wanted to start with the upper suites of the office but as he entered the building, he had a sinking suspicion that no one had maintained it. Had he? He had a cleaning service set up for regular service, he just couldn't remember if it was for all his units.
How many did he even have anyways?
"I left the mansion so I wouldn't get dirty," he muttered to himself, opening the doors to XFI.
And then, like a halo of goodness, he saw a minion.
"New Blonde! Good. Follow me, I have work for you."
Sam looked up at the sound of the loud voice in the office and then immediately deflated upon seeing the pompous asshole it belonged to. “Oh good,” he muttered. “Captain dick perfume wants me. This’ll be good.”
He rolled his eyes as he got up, staring at the other man dryly. “Y’know I got actual work to do at my desk, right?”
Warren waved a hand dismissively. "Meh, it'll get done at some point. Come, there's more interesting things to do that involve me. Besides, consider this OT. Let's go, chop chop." He clapped his hands and headed for the stairwell. It wasn't a big building, only three storeys: the bottom level had their chinese restaurant and laundry, second floor was XFI, and third floor was the safe house.
He opened the door to the stairwell and turned to glare at Sam. "Are you coming?"
“Fucking peacock.” Sam mumbled under his breath but stood up nonetheless. He’d been the new guy on rotation before, but at least back in the mines he hadn’t been working with guys who thought the size of their ugly watch made them more important than everyone else.
Quentin wouldn’t treat me like this. Sam thought bitterly, trying and failing to find his boss in order to make pained eye contact as he followed the other man upstairs.
Once Warren saw Sam following, he set his mind to the apartment. He vaguely remembered what it looked like and when he opened the door, he cringed. It was obvious no one had done much with it, let alone use it.
A simple open concept loft, with huge windows and tall ceilings made for an inviting space...and clearly Warren had used it to his advantage once upon a time.
Now though...
"Why are there so many beanbags? And pillows? Ugh I know sex in the 2010s was all about opulence but goddamn, does no one bang up here now?" He put his hands on his hips and shook his head.
"Right. Can you start with the kitchen? Let's figure out what the hell we have here. Or you could do the bedroom area but you'll definitely find sex toys and I can't vouch for how clean they are."
Sam closed his eyes in quiet contemplation for a moment before resigning himself to the kitchen. It has a tendency to be the worst place to clean years down the line if his time in the youth group volunteers had taught him anything.
Wordlessly, Sam walked into the kitchen and started checking that the water was on, if anything was in the cabinets, and then he decided to brave the fridge and freezer. Upon opening the freezer Sam sighed, world weary and heavy.
“Is there a particular reason you’d have put a bottle of……cherry flavored anal lube in the freezer?”
Warren tossed three old decorative pillows into a pile. "You're from the south and you ask me that? Have you never fucked in the summer?" He shook his head. "It's refreshing... oh hey, is there booze in there too? Let's drink."
Sam made a mental note to not tell Clint about that and to avoid thinking about it around Quentin before opening the fridge. Inside was half of a six pack, the beers were covered in dust and clearly well beyond their ‘best by’ date.
“More for you, I don’t drink on the clock.” Sam said, gesturing towards the expired alcohol with a raised eyebrow.
"What kind of disgruntled employee are you?" Warren was slightly shocked by this. "Being professional is what I do at my real job. XFI is more of a hobby. Don't you drink doing hobbies?"
“It’s called bein’ responsible.” Sam said, wetting a wash rag he’d found in the drawers and starting to wipe down the shelves of the fridge. Under his breath he added. “Maybe you oughta try it some time.”
When the inside of the fridge had been wiped down, Sam stood up and cracked his back before looking for cleaning supplies to disinfect the sink. “An’ for the record, XFI is my job, it ain’t a hobby to me. Some of us take this seriously.”
"Better you than me," Warren responded idly. He'd stripped the bed and looked at it before shaking his head. "Everything here is garbage. I'll just have to completely buy new things." He stood up straighter and looked around the room, his fingers tapping at his waist. "Except....." He suddenly remembered something and hurriedly rushed to the closet.
"Heeey, I knew I'd left stuff here." He pulled out a semi casual button up, and grinned. "Check this out -- Pixie made it for my wings. I thought I'd lost it. Most of my wing shirts are here.... too bad it's out if fashion."
He sighed.
"I'll have to throw it out I guess. Not much of a market for winged and dapper."
Sam pulled an incredulous and insulted face. “Give it here, my brother can wear it, it should just about fit him though I might have to shorten it a mite in the sleeves and down around the hem….. you always this wasteful or just when you wanna show off around the have-nots?”
Like always, Warren heard what he wanted to hear. "You have a winged brother? Actually, you have a brother? Yeah take it. Then you're not a have-not you're a have-a-nice-wardrobe"
Sam took the shirt and folded it neatly, mentally going over the math required to take the shirt in to fit Jay while choosing his next words carefully.
“Did you know,” he said evenly. “That flighted birds got hollow bones? And that you’re about two ill-thought sentences away from me testin’ to see if yours are too?”
"Rude. I think everything I say through." He reached down and lifted up the mattress, pushing it against the wall. It would need a frame -- there was no way he would sleep on the floor anymore.
"And what are you doing? You said it needed tailoring. Leave the clothes, send your brother to me and I'll have it all altered. Us hollow-bone twins need to stick together." He paused. "Are...his wings feathered too?"
Sam knew an olive branch when he heard one, that didn’t mean he wanted to take it. But for Jay? For something to make his brother’s life even a little easier? He’d do it.
“They are, bright red, like his hair.” Sam said, shaking his head fondly. “Think they’re smaller than they oughta be but I don’t know if that’s on account of him bindin’ ‘em down or cause they’re new and ain’t fully grown in yet.”
Warren audibly gasped. "Binding them?! Oh no no no, that is not good for wing care." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a business card and hastily scribbled on the back.
"This is my personal cell phone. Your ginger brother needs to talk to me asap. I need to know his oiling routine. Is he using a dyson for drying? Nothing else will do really. " He shuddered. "Broken wings are so painful. How can he be expected to soar majestically if his pinions are bent?"
Sam blinked in surprise as he took the card. “Uh, thanks, but he’s not uh…..he ain’t exactly too excited to talk to anyone up here right now, even me. But uh….. can pretty much guarantee that he ain’t oilin’ an’ we don’t even know anyone that can afford a Dyson let alone have one ourselves.”
“Well that won't do." Now he was texting and emailing, his mind moving a million miles a second. "I'll have Illyana set up a spending account asap, and get the tailor appointment arranged. You two can go together. You can pick something out too. May as well. I'll write it all off anyways, so spend spend spend."
He thought for a moment. "Ah fuck it. I'll get her to deal with this apartment too. I'm bored of it. Let's do lunch, we earned it. Tacos?"
“We don’t need handouts.” Sam said sternly. “Ain’t in the business of accepting pity….. however you definitely owe me food after being such a dick so yes absolutely tacos. You’re payin’.”
Set a few hours before THIS.
The mansion was too dirty and demolished for Warren to enjoy his usual naos, and he honestly didn't want to be at his penthouse or work so that only left the XFI offices to skulk around in.
Although he'd been back for a while, Warren was still fairly hands-off. Letting Q feel like a big boy was Warren's Good Deed of the year and he saw no reason to change that.
That being said, adminstratively there was a lot to do. With Alex's departure finances had to be sorted, and Warren figured this was a good time to look at safe houses. He wanted to start with the upper suites of the office but as he entered the building, he had a sinking suspicion that no one had maintained it. Had he? He had a cleaning service set up for regular service, he just couldn't remember if it was for all his units.
How many did he even have anyways?
"I left the mansion so I wouldn't get dirty," he muttered to himself, opening the doors to XFI.
And then, like a halo of goodness, he saw a minion.
"New Blonde! Good. Follow me, I have work for you."
Sam looked up at the sound of the loud voice in the office and then immediately deflated upon seeing the pompous asshole it belonged to. “Oh good,” he muttered. “Captain dick perfume wants me. This’ll be good.”
He rolled his eyes as he got up, staring at the other man dryly. “Y’know I got actual work to do at my desk, right?”
Warren waved a hand dismissively. "Meh, it'll get done at some point. Come, there's more interesting things to do that involve me. Besides, consider this OT. Let's go, chop chop." He clapped his hands and headed for the stairwell. It wasn't a big building, only three storeys: the bottom level had their chinese restaurant and laundry, second floor was XFI, and third floor was the safe house.
He opened the door to the stairwell and turned to glare at Sam. "Are you coming?"
“Fucking peacock.” Sam mumbled under his breath but stood up nonetheless. He’d been the new guy on rotation before, but at least back in the mines he hadn’t been working with guys who thought the size of their ugly watch made them more important than everyone else.
Quentin wouldn’t treat me like this. Sam thought bitterly, trying and failing to find his boss in order to make pained eye contact as he followed the other man upstairs.
Once Warren saw Sam following, he set his mind to the apartment. He vaguely remembered what it looked like and when he opened the door, he cringed. It was obvious no one had done much with it, let alone use it.
A simple open concept loft, with huge windows and tall ceilings made for an inviting space...and clearly Warren had used it to his advantage once upon a time.
Now though...
"Why are there so many beanbags? And pillows? Ugh I know sex in the 2010s was all about opulence but goddamn, does no one bang up here now?" He put his hands on his hips and shook his head.
"Right. Can you start with the kitchen? Let's figure out what the hell we have here. Or you could do the bedroom area but you'll definitely find sex toys and I can't vouch for how clean they are."
Sam closed his eyes in quiet contemplation for a moment before resigning himself to the kitchen. It has a tendency to be the worst place to clean years down the line if his time in the youth group volunteers had taught him anything.
Wordlessly, Sam walked into the kitchen and started checking that the water was on, if anything was in the cabinets, and then he decided to brave the fridge and freezer. Upon opening the freezer Sam sighed, world weary and heavy.
“Is there a particular reason you’d have put a bottle of……cherry flavored anal lube in the freezer?”
Warren tossed three old decorative pillows into a pile. "You're from the south and you ask me that? Have you never fucked in the summer?" He shook his head. "It's refreshing... oh hey, is there booze in there too? Let's drink."
Sam made a mental note to not tell Clint about that and to avoid thinking about it around Quentin before opening the fridge. Inside was half of a six pack, the beers were covered in dust and clearly well beyond their ‘best by’ date.
“More for you, I don’t drink on the clock.” Sam said, gesturing towards the expired alcohol with a raised eyebrow.
"What kind of disgruntled employee are you?" Warren was slightly shocked by this. "Being professional is what I do at my real job. XFI is more of a hobby. Don't you drink doing hobbies?"
“It’s called bein’ responsible.” Sam said, wetting a wash rag he’d found in the drawers and starting to wipe down the shelves of the fridge. Under his breath he added. “Maybe you oughta try it some time.”
When the inside of the fridge had been wiped down, Sam stood up and cracked his back before looking for cleaning supplies to disinfect the sink. “An’ for the record, XFI is my job, it ain’t a hobby to me. Some of us take this seriously.”
"Better you than me," Warren responded idly. He'd stripped the bed and looked at it before shaking his head. "Everything here is garbage. I'll just have to completely buy new things." He stood up straighter and looked around the room, his fingers tapping at his waist. "Except....." He suddenly remembered something and hurriedly rushed to the closet.
"Heeey, I knew I'd left stuff here." He pulled out a semi casual button up, and grinned. "Check this out -- Pixie made it for my wings. I thought I'd lost it. Most of my wing shirts are here.... too bad it's out if fashion."
He sighed.
"I'll have to throw it out I guess. Not much of a market for winged and dapper."
Sam pulled an incredulous and insulted face. “Give it here, my brother can wear it, it should just about fit him though I might have to shorten it a mite in the sleeves and down around the hem….. you always this wasteful or just when you wanna show off around the have-nots?”
Like always, Warren heard what he wanted to hear. "You have a winged brother? Actually, you have a brother? Yeah take it. Then you're not a have-not you're a have-a-nice-wardrobe"
Sam took the shirt and folded it neatly, mentally going over the math required to take the shirt in to fit Jay while choosing his next words carefully.
“Did you know,” he said evenly. “That flighted birds got hollow bones? And that you’re about two ill-thought sentences away from me testin’ to see if yours are too?”
"Rude. I think everything I say through." He reached down and lifted up the mattress, pushing it against the wall. It would need a frame -- there was no way he would sleep on the floor anymore.
"And what are you doing? You said it needed tailoring. Leave the clothes, send your brother to me and I'll have it all altered. Us hollow-bone twins need to stick together." He paused. "Are...his wings feathered too?"
Sam knew an olive branch when he heard one, that didn’t mean he wanted to take it. But for Jay? For something to make his brother’s life even a little easier? He’d do it.
“They are, bright red, like his hair.” Sam said, shaking his head fondly. “Think they’re smaller than they oughta be but I don’t know if that’s on account of him bindin’ ‘em down or cause they’re new and ain’t fully grown in yet.”
Warren audibly gasped. "Binding them?! Oh no no no, that is not good for wing care." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a business card and hastily scribbled on the back.
"This is my personal cell phone. Your ginger brother needs to talk to me asap. I need to know his oiling routine. Is he using a dyson for drying? Nothing else will do really. " He shuddered. "Broken wings are so painful. How can he be expected to soar majestically if his pinions are bent?"
Sam blinked in surprise as he took the card. “Uh, thanks, but he’s not uh…..he ain’t exactly too excited to talk to anyone up here right now, even me. But uh….. can pretty much guarantee that he ain’t oilin’ an’ we don’t even know anyone that can afford a Dyson let alone have one ourselves.”
“Well that won't do." Now he was texting and emailing, his mind moving a million miles a second. "I'll have Illyana set up a spending account asap, and get the tailor appointment arranged. You two can go together. You can pick something out too. May as well. I'll write it all off anyways, so spend spend spend."
He thought for a moment. "Ah fuck it. I'll get her to deal with this apartment too. I'm bored of it. Let's do lunch, we earned it. Tacos?"
“We don’t need handouts.” Sam said sternly. “Ain’t in the business of accepting pity….. however you definitely owe me food after being such a dick so yes absolutely tacos. You’re payin’.”
